Chapter Four: He Hadn't Forgotten

I didn't reply to the text. Not that night, not at midnight when I lay awake staring at the ceiling, not at seven in the morning when I had no reason left to stay in bed. I just let it sit on my phone, unanswered, as if that counted as a choice instead of just being afraid.

By the time I made it to the studio for our first actual work session, I'd rebuilt every wall I'd spent the morning convincing myself I still had. Project only. Nothing else. I'd said it out loud to my bathroom mirror like an idiot, because saying it inside my head wasn't working anymore.

Danny was already sitting at the corner table when I walked in. His sketches were spread out in front of him, making it look like he’d been there for hours. He told me not to be late, but he’d arrived before dawn.

He glanced up at me. I kept my eyes on the table.

"You're early," I said.

"You're surprised."

"I'm something."

He almost smiled. Almost. I noticed myself noticing, and that annoyed me more than anything else had all day.

We worked. That's the honest version; we actually worked, for almost two hours, and it wasn't terrible. He had good instincts for spatial flow, better than I remembered, and I caught myself leaning in to look at something he'd sketched before I realized how close I'd gotten and pulled back without explanation.

"You used to draw differently," he said, not looking up.

"People change."

"Not your hands." He studied my sketch for a second. "Your hands draw the same. Heavier on the left. Always have." He tapped the corner of my page with his pencil. "Every building you draw still has too many windows."

I frowned. "What?"

"You always said people deserved sunlight." His mouth almost curved into a smile. "You used to argue with every lecturer who designed beautiful buildings that felt impossible to live in.

"I’d forgotten saying that. He hadn’t.

I looked back at my sketch before he could see what that did to me. "People still deserve sunlight," I said, softer.

"Yeah." His eyes stayed on me a second too long. "They do."

By the time we packed up, it was dark outside, and the sky had that low, swollen look that meant rain was already decided. I made it four steps past the library doors before it came down, not a drizzle, just straight down, no warning, the kind of rain that doesn't negotiate.

"Myra." Danny was right behind me.

"I'm fine, I'll just…"

He didn't let me finish. He pulled off his jacket and held it above both our heads without asking, and I was already under it before I could decide whether that was a good idea.

We stood pressed together under the narrow library overhang, rain sheeting off the edge of his jacket, close enough that I could feel the warmth off him even through my wet sleeve.

The rain was loud enough that we didn't have to talk. Somehow, the silence said more. I leaned away, just a little, barely an inch. He caught it right away but stayed put, stubborn as ever.

"This is ridiculous," I said.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

"Myra." He said my name differently this time, not the gala version, not the seminar version. This one was quiet and deliberate, like he'd been deciding whether to say it for the last two hours. "I showed up early today because I didn't want you sitting there already deciding how this was going to go before I got a single vote."

I looked away before he could see that he'd hit something.

"I stopped deciding things about you eleven months ago," I said.

"Did you?" His voice dropped lower. "Because I've spent eleven months replaying the exact sound of you not answering your phone."

"Danny…"

"I'm not asking you to forgive anything. I'm being honest with you. I don't know how to be anything else in front of you."

The rain kept falling. I had a whole year of reasons to walk away, all lined up in my head, but I just stood there and ignored them.

"This doesn't fix anything," I said. My voice came out quieter than I meant it to.

"I know."

"It doesn't change what happened."

"I know that too."

He turned toward me slightly, the jacket dropping lower, and I saw the rain on his lashes and how his jaw got tight like he was holding something in. His gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there long enough that I forgot what I was about to say.

My breath did something embarrassing.

Neither of us moved. His hand lifted, slow and careful, fingers tracing my jaw. He closed the distance until all I could hear was the rain and my own heartbeat.

I didn't pull back.

"Danny…" His name slipped from my lips, soft and shaky. He leaned in, breath warm and close, eyes locked on mine. My heart hammered.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know. Just…"

"Danny." A different voice, low and rough, not from my mouth.

We both went still.

Victoria Blancham stood at the base of the library steps, umbrella open, not a single hair out of place, looking at us with an expression that gave absolutely nothing away, which was somehow worse than anger would have been. Her eyes moved from Danny's hand still near my face to mine, and then back to her son's.

Danny lowered his hand slowly. I took one step back.

"Mother." His voice had changed completely. Flat, careful, the version he wore for his family. "What are you doing here?"

"I had a meeting with the dean." She kept her eyes on him. "I thought I'd surprise you for dinner." The pause stretched, heavy. "Looks like I surprised everyone.”

She smiled at me, sharp and quick, no warmth in it.

"Myra." She said my name, flat and cool, the way she always did, like a reminder of exactly where I stood.

"Mrs. Blancham." I kept my voice even, picked up my bag, and looked at Danny once. He was watching me with an expression I didn't have time to read.

I walked. Fast, steady, rain soaking through my jacket in about thirty seconds flat.

Behind me, Victoria's voice stayed calm and sweet. "Shall we, darling?" I didn't wait for more. I was already moving, the heat from before still buzzing under my skin.

Victoria never needed to shout. With just a few words, she reminded me why almost was as close as I'd ever get.